Playing Partners
by Redderhead
Summary: Sherlock finds out that John is a damn good piano player. JOHNLOCK as per usual. Cute, angsty and a little soppy.


_Hello Dearies, just wee old me again with another happy tale to tell. Wee bitty angsty, wee bitty cute but unfortunately smut free!_

_As per usual I own nothing and no one. Just an admirer!_

_P.S. Featured song is by Simon Curtis._

Playing Partners

Sherlock returned to 221B after an excruciatingly long case in Cornwall. He was covered, from head to foot in dry caked mud and was looking forward to cleaning himself up a bit. The train & tube ride home had been surprisingly fun as he threatened to wipe his coat on as many scared looking passengers as possible; subsequently they gave him, and his canoe paddle, a wide berth.

The first thing Sherlock heard upon entering 221B was faint music. John or Mrs Hudson playing a CD perhaps, he thought. Ascending the stairs, Sherlock unplugged one ear of its thumbfull of dry mud to hear that the voice accompanying the music was familiar, too familiar, it was John.

Sherlock, fascinated, leant his paddle against the landing wall and continued to mount his flatmate's stairs to the Doctor's bedroom silently. The music had stopped briefly, Sherlock had hovered mid-movement and awaited the music to start once more, which, of course it did. Sherlock reached the top of the small staircase and listened intently to the rhythm and lyrics emanating from the closed door.

"What would you say if I said that I want you?  
Would you laugh at me  
and maybe think I was crazy?  
'Cause I don't know any other way  
than to say the way that I feel  
But it doesn't ever work  
and it hurts to the bone  
always feeling so damn alone"

Sherlock smirked, this was John, practicing for serenading one of his girlfriends, he thought. The song definitely contained smacks of John's poetry skill, but this one was unusually good.

"Is it so, so wrong to love?  
Baby is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

The pitch of this particular chorus was surprisingly high and Sherlock found himself impressed at his flatmate's overall performance.

"I don't know what to do  
'cause I think that I need you  
And I'm afraid 'cause intuition's telling me  
that you don't feel the same  
Ooh I wanna hold your hand  
but I don't think you understand  
just how I'm feeling inside  
Oh baby please don't play with strings that dangle me  
because I'd rather have nothing than lies"

This section was sung with passion. Sherlock could identify with this particular expression of emotion being an instrumentalist himself.

Sherlock had never identified John as a piano player, and consequently chastised himself. Of course he was, it was obvious from his hand writing.

"Is it so, so wrong to love?  
Baby is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?

Is it so, so wrong to love?  
Baby is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

Sherlock turned away from the door and quietly started to descend the stairs once more, he detested repetition in songs, however, the last verse of the song struck his mud-clad ears with force and he froze to the spot, his insides burning with fear.

"Is it so, so wrong to love?  
Sherlock, is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

Sherlock couldn't move. He seemed rooted to the spot in shock as John rustled about in his bedroom, opening the door John was faced with an extremely muddy individual with his back to him.

"S-Sherlock?" John stammered awkwardly, also, seemingly frozen to the floorboards.

Sherlock slowly turned to meet John's wide eyes.

"I was just coming to see if you had eaten yet?" Sherlock mused, recovering astonishingly well from his shock, he clasped his hands behind his back. "But, I heard you were, busy."

John stared at the countryside clad man in bewilderment.

"Erm…yes, I could…eat. I'll get it" John said, pointing towards the windows.

"Yes, good, good, I will get washed then" Sherlock mumbled, bounding away from John and promptly slamming the bathroom door.

John let out a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding as he blinked a couple of times in shock.

Had Sherlock heard him playing his beloved keyboard that he had retrieved from Harry's house in the detectives' absence? Had he heard John singing? Worse, had he heard John's _personal _song? He chastised himself with mumbled swear words from the threshold of his bedroom to the Chinese take-away on the corner of their street.

By the time he had arrived back in 221B, Sherlock had returned to his usual pristine self, sitting neatly tucked up in his own armchair adorning his blue silk dressing gown and lounge wear.

John pushed the immediate thought of Sherlock looking like a god to the back of his mind as he mooched toward the kitchen, busying himself with unwrapping the take out trays.

Not a word was exchanged between the close friends that evening as the TV supplied its usual bereft entertainment.

Finally, John readied himself for bed and said a soft 'good-night' as he passed the living room doorway, leaving a pensive Sherlock remaining rooted to his tucked up stature in his own armchair.

The following day, John awoke to an empty flat. He felt rather dejected as he walked droopily towards the kitchen kettle and proceeded to make himself a cup of tea.

As John sat silently in the old fashioned armchair that he had adopted as his own, he drank his tea and allowed his imagination to run ragged: If Sherlock had heard the song, he surely would understand its meaning, perhaps he was out thinking of a way to reciprocate? If only he had the ability to contain similar feelings for John.

A sharp ring of the doorbell downstairs broke John's desire filled reverie and he placed his half mug down to straighten his dressing gown before trotting down the staircase to answer it.

"Dr Watson?" A man asked in a gruff London accent.

"Yes" John answered, a frown covering his forehead.

"Delivery, please sign" The delivery man requested, handing John the clip board.

John sighed and signed the dotted line interestedly, however, what he looked up to see he was not entirely prepared for.

"That's a piano" John stated dumbly, his face expressing shock like no other individual could.

"Yes, sir" The man said as he helped the second and third delivery man to winch the beautiful instrument out of the lorry that had parked in the empty street.

"It's a Grand Piano" John said again, exceedingly dumbstruck.

"Yes, sir" The man answered again, a slight smile spreading his lips. Once the item in question had landed safely on the pavement the man looked up to John again "Now, if you'll excuse us, Sir, we need to fix up the winch, is the 1st floor ok?" he asked.

"It'll have to be, it's too damn big to go anywhere else" John said with a laugh of disbelief.

Across the street, a Consulting Detective laughed quietly as he looked on from his hiding spot within an alley, hidden in shadow from the early morning sun.

Within an hour, the new polished mahogany grand piano had taken up residence in the corner of the shared living room. John made tea for each of the hard working delivery men and they currently sat round on shifted furniture eating biscuits, enjoying a well deserved rest.

"Give us a tune then, Dr Watson" one of the men urged as John gingerly ran his hand over the instrument's ivory keys.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. I'm out of practice" John excused.

"Go on" the older of the three chided.

"Oh…ok" John sighed as he retrieved a wooden chair from the dining table and placed it before the keys.

John proceeded to play the same song he had been practicing the day before, only this time without the last rather revealing verse.

Once he had finished, the three men clapped and cheered approvingly before taking their leave.

John walked them to the door and thanked each one cheerfully.

Re-entering the living room, the Doctor half smiled in the direction of the new instrument, his hands remained in his dressing gown pockets as he examined the fine materials from which it was made.

By dinner time that evening, John had re-arranged the living room as best as he could, moving the desks towards Sherlock's 'violin playing window' and arranging the sofa against the kitchen archway.

He sat at the piano, tinkering constantly with the keys in wonder.

The unmistakable bang of the front door closing reached his ears and he slowly turned to face the living room door expectantly.

"Evening, John" Sherlock said dully as he flumped down in his own armchair. "The sofa has moved." He stated.

"Evening, Sherlock, I see that your powers of deduction are as strong as ever" John said with amusement as he tilted his head slightly, looking directly to his flatmate through the lifted piano lid.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, John" Sherlock said as he glanced towards the instrument that took up the majority of the shared space. "Aren't you going to put that upstairs?" he asked with a sudden furrow of his mouldable brow. "I can't get to my crime wall."

"It won't fit" John said simply as he played a scale as quietly as he could. "Thank you, by the way" John said, not looking up from his hands dancing across the unspoiled keys.

Sherlock's head snapped up in the Doctor's direction and he realised it was impossible to play dumb.

"You're most welcome" he said quietly, smiling weakly.

"Any reason why you decided to treat your blogger to a £3,000 musical instrument?" John asked quietly, still not looking up as he ended his two handed arpeggio with an echoing pedal.

Sherlock coughed and sprung up from his chair to retrieve his violin.

"What can you play?" He muttered as he delicately tuned up. John watched the detective's elegant hands as they danced up and down the strings and tuning pegs.

"I'm not really sure, I've always had a gift for picking up a tune" John said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sherlock nodded curtly before launching in to a familiar solo piece. It was played with long sorrowful vibrato notes, slow enough for John to join in at his leisure, to which he did.

Sherlock smiled as his doctor impressed him further, adding a lower section that mirrored his own melody perfectly.

They played for little over twenty minutes as Sherlock controlled the melody, repeating and changing it constantly.

"Boys, I have never heard something so beautiful" Mrs Hudson said, clearly taken aback as she leant against the door frame to the living room.

"Why thank you, Mrs Hudson" Sherlock said gratefully as he displayed a rare smile across the room, finishing their melody with a triad of notes in quick succession; John, expecting this launched into his own melody of choice.

"Really, John? Greensleeves?" Sherlock winced, scrunching his nose up.

"Leave him alone, Sherlock, god knows he puts up with your music at all hours. We both do" Mrs Hudson chided as she came in and busied herself making cups of tea.

"Where did that beautiful thing come from anyway? Did you two solve another big case?" She asked excitedly.

John looked toward Sherlock expectantly, still playing nonchalantly.

"I did not discover John was a musician until last night. The piano is a present for achieving complete secrecy from _me_." Sherlock noted the sudden hunch in John's posture, the abrupt stop to his music and he hastened to add; "That, coupled with the fact that I wanted to treat my faithful blogger." John's head snapped up in the direction of his flatmate in time to receive a warm smile and a touch on the shoulder from the man in question.

Mrs Hudson watched on with a knowing smile as the two men shared a delicate moment.

Before John could reply, Sherlock's hand had dropped from his shoulder and he was once more drawing his violin bow across its own strings with rapid speed. John smiled weakly down at his hands before attempting to join in.

A week later, the pair had returned from a case in fowl moods. Sherlock bored within a minute of entering the taxi and John was overtired from a 3am start.

"Lets play" Sherlock mused as he swooped up his violin in his arm, still clad in his overcoat and scarf.

"Sherlock, I'm really tired. Just give me a 20 minute nap, then, I'll play" John tried.

"Now" Sherlock growled before he turned to the window and began to play.

John sighed heavily before settling down at his piano.

The tune started soft this time, almost gentle with pick pocketed high notes and serene feel.

Mid-tune, Sherlock turned from the window, his coat swishing dramatically outward to brush the wall as he faced the piano and consequently his playing partner. The melody had changed, just as dramatically as Sherlock had turned, taking a vertical sweep in speed. John was caught momentarily off-guard by the sparkle in the consulting detectives' eyes as he watched him carefully; putting every ounce of concentration he had left into keeping up with Sherlock.

It was then, that it hit the Doctor.

This wasn't _just_ music. This was them; this was an instrumental describing the unpredictable Consulting Detective and the ever faithful side-kick.

The music was pure, unleashed emotion; displaying the two openly like books in a dark and dusty library. John halted the melody and started his own, taking the lead as Sherlock now followed. This melody was hectic, full of passion and speed, unbridling what John had wanted to tell his flatmate since the day that he met him, the day that he fell in love with him.

Sherlock closed his eyes to enable him to improvise along with the music; he smiled as he managed to separate the two melodies slightly, offering his own conversation to John's statement.

Eventually, as the rhythm picked up yet more speed and volume - John put his feet down on both pedals to emphasise his anger at their situation - Sherlock approached his playing partner all the while, staring unblinkingly at him. The tune was becoming climatic, messy, it began to rip apart at the seams until it was finally too much and Sherlock threw his violin towards the armchair, he grabbed John by his coat lapels, hoisted him to his feet before smashing his own lips into the Doctors' unrepentantly.

As forcefully as it had occurred, it finished; with Sherlock ripping himself away from the shorter man before disappearing into his bedroom.

John landed backwards, sitting in the wooden chair in a state of shock, staring after his flatmate.

After half an hour of pacing, John had had enough, the thought of sleep couldn't be further from his mind now as he rid himself of his coat and approached Sherlock's bedroom door with determination.

Throwing the door open with more force than was initially intended, John brought thunder and rage to the small room. His eyes immediately focused on the lump on the bed.

Sherlock did not move. He did not even bat an eyelid at the sudden intrusion into his private space. He was expecting John.

What he was not expecting was for John to forcefully turn the consulting detective on his back, holding him firmly into the mattress and clambering on top of him.

"Sherlock. What. Was. That?" John asked, only just keeping a lid on his anger.

Sherlock helplessly looked up into the thunderous eyes of his colleague, friend, flatmate, saviour, doctor, soldier, confidant, hedgehog, partner, lover…wait, what?

"Tell me Sherlock" John growled as he sat on his knees between Sherlock's limbs, his hands still firmly planted on the taller man's shoulders.

"I do not know. I could not help it" Sherlock said trying to look past John to the ceiling, without realising it, his eyes began to water and he was swallowing hard.

John, seeing this, leaned back a bit, resting his hands against Sherlock's chest weakly as he looked down at the detective at a loss for words.

"I got…caught up in the music" Sherlock said apologetically. "I am sorry".

John reluctantly clambered off his flatmate's bed and made for the door, closing it behind him. He headed for the piano alone and sat down dejectedly.

Placing his hands on the keys, John began to play the first song Sherlock had heard him perform. Sherlock lay still, listening as more tears rolled helplessly from his eyes.

John's voice was soft, on the verge of breaking, Sherlock could tell. The song was slower than that first time he had heard it.

"What would you say if I said that I want you?  
Would you laugh at me  
and maybe think I was crazy?  
'Cause I don't know any other way  
than to say the way that I feel  
But it doesn't ever work  
and it hurts to the bone  
always feeling so damn alone"

"Is it so, so wrong to love?  
Sher-" John's voice cracked and Sherlock could tell his flatmate had broken down, regardless, the soldier continued.

"Sherlock is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

"I don't know what to do  
'cause I _know_ that I need you  
And I'm afraid 'cause intuition's telling me  
that you. Don't. Feel. The. Same" There was a scramble at the piano and the tune ended prematurely in a mash of notes. Sherlock deduced that the man had slumped against the keys. The image of what John was doing made the younger man's stomach lurch and he sprang from the bed.

Sherlock re-entered their living room and picked up his violin quietly, he began to play, picking up from where John had left off; his own voice surprisingly giving out too as he attempted to sing the rest of John's piece.

"Ooh I wanna hold your hand  
but I don't think you understand  
just how I'm feeling inside  
Oh baby please don't play with strings that dangle me  
because I'd rather have nothing than lies"

John looked up with wet, red eyes as he watched Sherlock play and sing with his eyes closed at the foot of his piano, making the song his own.

"Is it so, so wrong to love?

Oh John, is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

Before Sherlock could continue, the sound of the piano taking over made him open his eyes. John smiled slightly as he lifted a hand to quickly wipe his face before he took to the song once more;

"Is it so, so wrong to love?

oh, is it so, so wrong to love?  
Is it so, so wrong to love  
and to be loved in return?"

Sharing the smile, Sherlock joined in with the final verse before lowering his violin.

"Do you, do you fancy that nap now?" Sherlock asked tentatively as he rested his violin back on the armchair.

John hid his face with his hands and nodded into them.

Sherlock pulled a hand away from John's face and grasped it tightly.

"Your room or mine?" he asked, his trademarked smile beaming hope and warmth straight into John's heart.


End file.
